


Before the Otherness Came

by actualmuffin



Category: AFK Arena (Video Game)
Genre: (yet), AS OF CH5 IT'S STILL REAL CLOSE FRIENDSHIP IM WARNING YALL, Also the buckethead whatshisname probs, Angst, Bottom fawkes, Bottom fawkes rights, Eventual Happy Ending, F/M, Fawkes being an angsty lone wolf, Fawkes's spooky hand, Friends to Lovers, Friendship, Hurt/Comfort, I think baden will appear at some point, It's the thing in his arm yall, Magical parasitism, Minor Original Character(s), Mirael being supportive, Necromancy, Raine being protective, Slow Burn, They're not even together yet but Im just setting that straight from the start ok, filler characters I couldn't find a canon equivalent for tbh, friendship is important, is that even a tag, magic relapse, no beta we die like men who desperately crave instant gratification, romance is not the main focus, so slow u cant even see it move, warnings may be added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-08-26
Updated: 2020-10-19
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:48:31
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,259
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26115964
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/actualmuffin/pseuds/actualmuffin
Summary: It’d been almost two decades since he’d gotten the parasite under control when Fawkes felt it pull at his consciousness again.He was sitting at a tavern with Raine and Mirael after a long day’s work and earning enough to have a smooth couple of months without a problem. The air was one of celebration, camaraderie, and cheerful music that everyone in the tavern seemed to know the lyrics of. Fawkes himself preferred quieter spaces, but he didn’t mind indulging his travel partners’ extroversion once in a while. He even found himself humming to the melody of the song, when he felt it.It was an indistinct whisper that he knew no one could hear but himself, as it came from within him. He’d always located it at the back of his head, near the base of his skull. His eyes darted from his whiskey to his left hand; he had his gloves on and his sleeves rolled back, as usual, and his hand didn’t make any movement without his command. But he could swear he could feel it pulse.
Relationships: Fawkes & Mirael & Raine, Fawkes/Raine, Raine/Fawkes
Comments: 4
Kudos: 10





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> hoo boy I haven't written straight fics since i was 14 but this ship I swear to fuck  
> Updates on Tuesdays hopefully, let's see if I can keep this consistent  
> title from As It Was, by Hozier

It’d been almost two decades since he’d gotten the parasite under control when Fawkes felt it pull at his consciousness again.

He was sitting at a tavern with Raine and Mirael after a long day’s work and earning enough to have a smooth couple of months without a problem. The air was one of celebration, camaraderie, and cheerful music that everyone in the tavern seemed to know the lyrics of. Fawkes himself preferred quieter spaces, but he didn’t mind indulging his travel partners’ extroversion once in a while. He even found himself humming to the melody of the song, when he felt it.

It was an indistinct whisper that he knew no one could hear but himself, as it came from within him. He’d always located it at the back of his head, near the base of his skull. His eyes darted from his whiskey to his left hand; he had his gloves on and his sleeves rolled back, as usual, and his hand didn’t make any movement without his command. But he could swear he could feel it pulse.

As if the raucous tavern around him had drowned into muffled background noise, he yanked off his left glove. The hand was still an icy teal color up to the wrist, where it started fading back to his normal skin color. He turned his hand around and flexed his fingers, but it seemed the pulsing was all in his head.

“ _Fawkes!_ ”

His surroundings caught up to him all too quickly. He snapped his eyes up to Raine’s distressed look. She had put her tankard down and Mirael watched in surprise, but the rest of the tavern was still mid-celebration. Raine reached out to wave her hand in front of his face. “You back with us now?”

After a moment’s pause, Fawkes downed the rest of his whiskey, as if to drown the parasite’s mutterings, and pulled his mask back up now that he had nothing else to drink. Raine furrowed her brows at this, and he spoke while the whiskey burned down his throat. “I’m here.”

Raine didn’t look convinced, and for a moment she almost gave the impression of being sober. “Everything alright?” She said it in an innocuous enough tone, but she gestured with her eyes at his left hand.

He leaned back on the chair with his hands behind his head. An exhale made its way out his lungs, and the parasite was quiet again. “Yeah.”

Raine kept looking at him with that concerned look that could’ve seemed rare to anyone else, but he was well-acquainted with. He knew she expected him to elaborate, but he also knew from experience than elaborating on a lie could seem suspicious. So he ignored her, and eventually she drifted back to drinking and singing. (But he was well-versed enough in her mannerisms, drunk or sober, to know that she snuck glances at him for the rest of the night.)

* * *

He’d been doing everything normally. Meditation every night, a drop of Dura’s Tears in his drink every morning, the same as it had been since they taught him how to control it. He hadn’t been using its power more than usual, either. So against all his knowledge of the arcane, he imagined it was just a late aftershock and brushed it off.

In fact, he’d almost forgotten about that time at the tavern when it happened again.

This time the discordant whispers were strong enough to bleed into his dreams and wake him up way before sunrise. They were camping by the roadside, the fire having died out hours ago, and they hadn’t set up tents because of the dry weather of this area. So the moment he jolted awake, he had the mind to remain quiet for a few moments to sense if his companions stirred. During that quiet moment the whispers clawed at his brain louder than last time, but neither Raine nor Mirael woke up.

He sat up and checked his left hand. It didn’t look or move differently than usual, but he could feel the parasite stirring, if the whispers were anything to go by. At this point it was a matter of willpower, so he sat to meditate.

The whispers persisted, to the point they were almost intelligible, but he knew better than to let them. He pushed back with mental incantations and the will to empty his mind, and it took some effort, but the whispers slowly slunk back into oblivion. He let his mind rest, then, and time slipped away from him. When he opened his eyes, dawn was breaking and Mirael was sitting by the rekindled flames, playing with their shapes. Of course, she rose with the sun.

Fawkes sighed and rolled his shoulders, thus letting her know that he was done. She waved quietly as he stood up and looked for whatever they’d saved for breakfast. He was one more second from thinking he’d have to hunt something down when he found some salted veal, and several quail eggs wrapped in a lot of cloth. He brought them to the fire and began to cook.

When he first met Mirael, he’d been afraid he now had _another_ boisterous extrovert to watch over (and with an ego, to boot). But while Mirael really did love her tavern songs and unrestrained praise, that didn’t mean she didn’t know how to enjoy peace and quiet, he soon realized. So sometimes he’d find himself relaxing in the silent dawn with the only other morning person on the team, at least until the smell of breakfast would wake Raine up.

He glanced over at her sleeping form as he prepared the meal for cooking. As much as he found Raine loud and sometimes annoying, he couldn’t pretend he didn’t have a soft spot for her. She knew how to piss him off, yes, but she knew how to calm him down, how he’d react to any situation, and even the words he’d say. They’d been friends for so long they could tell what the other was thinking with just a glance, and he’d honestly be hopeless if he somehow lost her.

_Lost her to the parasite in his hand, squeezing her throat and spreading corruption like gangrene from her neck to her—_

He dropped the pan and would’ve lost it to the fire had Mirael not grabbed it, the flames licking her bare hands. He felt her bewildered look on him, but he was keeping a firm look on the flames to _focus_. That hadn’t been his own insecurities speaking. That was the parasite, with a terrible whispering voice that finally found words and eloquence, and it had caught him by surprise. He mentally recited his incantations again, rushed and broken. He vaguely heard Mirael calling for him, and he vaguely heard himself responding with something generic, as he sank himself into an improvised self-exorcism.

Even though the parasite’s voice faded away, he felt an icy grip crawl up his left wrist and stop almost at his elbow. He dreaded looking under his sleeve because he knew what he’d find.

* * *

It didn’t make any sense. He followed his routine like clockwork, hadn't encountered stranger enemies than usual, and it had been decades since the encounter with the necromancer. Why did he suddenly regain interest in Fawkes?

Or maybe he didn't. Maybe it was the parasite that had been hibernating all this time, only compliant to Fawkes's wishes to adapt and survive.

He found himself mulling over the possibilities at dinner, finding himself distant from whatever overblown personal victory Mirael was telling them about. His eyes kept drifting to his left hand, waiting for it to twitch, to glow through the glove or burn through it. And to his left was also Raine, laughing along with Mirael with that obnoxiously large yet honest smile of hers. He knew she carried guilt over the incident, and yet she'd learned not to let it burden her. He had been the same for a while, but given the events of the last few days, now he longed for that kind of mirth.

He decided to take action and take more of Dura's Tears. He knew the dangers of overusing them, the recklessness and addiction they could cause, but he was desperate. So while they started to put things away after dinner, he snuck another drop onto his tongue with a gulp of water to follow.

The reaction was almost immediate. The parasite seemed to writhe and screech under his skin, and for a moment he thought this was it, this was working— but then sharp pain shot up the veins of his arm and up his spine and into his head, and his vision went colorfully blind for a second and he had to suddenly stand still to keep his balance. But the pain was nothing compared to the terror that gripped his heart with icy necrotic fingers when he felt the infection crawl further up his arm.

_DON'T_

_EVER_

_DO THAT_

_AGAIN_

Every word was punctuated with a wave of pain like an ice pick digging into his skull, and he couldn't suppress a final grunt of pain with the last one. He swayed on his feet, but even though there were still spots in his vision, he felt Raine's strong grip steadying him by the shoulder. "Fawkes, you alright? Everything okay?"

The parasite also spoke, in a voice like fingernails dragging on tile. _UNDERSTOOD?_

He forced himself to nod.

Raine was quiet for a moment, still holding his shoulders. "You sure? You don't look so well."

The pain began to subside, but he acutely felt what his sleeves and gloves hid. His vision cleared slightly, and he saw Raine. For a flicker of a second he saw two icy hands squeezing her neck, but he blinked the illusion away. "Headache," he muttered. It wasn't a lie.

Raine slowly let go of him, but stayed close. "You should rest, then. We'll finish the cleanup."

There was an indignant scoff from somewhere behind him that he recognized as Mirael, and Raine looked at her with an amused glance. This was their domesticity, Fawkes realized. This life of travel and adventure, of day-to-day survival, had been their normalcy for years. They fended off danger and killed monsters for a living, but always on the outside. The monster had never come from within.

Fawkes nodded and lumbered to his bedroll. Mentally, he made sure that his important belongings were already packed.


	2. Chapter 2

Raine always had a vivid imagination; her dreams could be absurd and wacky as much as outlandishly disturbing. So when she stirred awake the next day, she was surprised to realize she'd dreamt not of an outrageous fantasy, but of a memory.

But she had no time to delve into the details when she saw the look on Mirael's face as she nudged her awake. The witch looked… cautiously blank. She was a person of wild emotions and unhinged intensity, so this blank was more alarming than anything else. Raine was about to turn to wake her other travel partner when Mirael spoke urgently. "Fawkes left."

The words barely registered. Raine still turned to see where Fawkes had been sleeping, only to find an empty spot on the dirt with just some flattened weeds as a sign that someone had ever lay there.

It was like a slap to the face. Her dream stopped being important as she jolted out of the bedroll and stood tall to scout around the campsite. Dawn was barely breaking, light wasn’t on her side right now, but she could see no obvious tracks. Then her hunter senses kicked in and with only a little searching, she found his hidden trail. She scrambled to gather her belongings, catching Mirael out of the corner of her eye doing the same, but they didn’t get very far-- only until the road they’d been taking. There, the tracks disappeared, nearly perpendicular to the road so as to not indicate either direction.

"FUCK!" she roared, clutching her hair. What the _fuck_? Why would Fawkes leave? She'd seen him spacing out, looking concerned about something, but usually he would tell her something before trying any wild shit. And he'd never even brought up _leaving_! This was way too sudden. Last night was definitely not a headache.

"...Are you okay?"

Even though Mirael's voice was uncharacteristically cautious, Raine still flinched and scowled at her. To give her credit, Mirael didn’t shrink under her glare. Raine weighed the options, trying to tie up her messed-up hair as usual. This road was between two towns, the closest of which was to the north. And she knew Fawkes didn't know his way around the wilderness like she did, the same way he could navigate any city she'd get lost in. So it was either north or south. The question was which.

"North," she announced to Mirael. "We'll check the inns and taverns. If nobody's seen him go through we go back south."

She wasn't looking at Mirael, didn't want to see what kind of expression she'd make when she heard that makeshift plan. But Mirael remained silent, so she gave her a cue. "You don't have to come."

"Are you kidding me? You guys are the only people I trust with my laundry." She said it with her usual tone, haughty and self-assured, but Raine understood the message. She wasn't going to have to be alone through this. "Two heads are better than one, anyways."

Raine nearly smiled at that.

* * *

Turns out it wasn't easy for him to blend in while carrying a coffin, but he couldn't afford to ditch it. If anything, his last resort would be to lock himself in it; nothing could escape its silver-lined locks. So Fawkes stuck to his kind; travelers and mercenaries, where each person was extravagant in their own way and he’d just be another in a crowd. He'd seen people lugging around stranger things than a coffin.

This tavern didn't feel warm and welcoming as usual, but he doubted that was their fault. Even though he did prefer quiet spaces, it just felt muggy without anyone cheering and singing. He missed Raine.

_WE MISS HER TOO_

_THE BEST BLOOD COMES FROM LOVED ONES_

Fawkes clutched his left arm at the elbow as if cutting off the blood supply, but he still felt the whispers cackling at the back of his mind. _Leave her out of this,_ he willed.

_FOR NOW, MY FRIEND_

It faded out after that, and he sighed in relief that no images accompanied that episode. He flagged down the barmaid for some whiskey and let go of his arm. He knew healers weren't an option anymore, that this kind of magic was way beyond any Lightbearer's grasp. But maybe they could point him in someone's direction. The Hypogean invasion was working wonders for interfaction relations, so he wasn't throwing out that possibility.

As if on cue, a raucous group barged into the tavern and demanded ale, no doubt in celebration. Fawkes heard them talk loudly about some successful bounty, something involving mages and graveborn. That was close enough to what he looked for. Fawkes picked up his whiskey and approached them, clearing his throat. “Gentlemen. May I buy you a drink?”

There were three; a mass of muscle who seemed to be more interested in his table doodle than his tankard, a skittish young dwarf who looked too bookish to be in such company, and a mousy-looking man with a belt full of throwing knives over his shoulder. It was the latter who addressed Fawkes, probably their leader. “As long as you don’t come to steal our gigs, Mr. Death’s Defeat, I think we’ll take up that offer.”

Fawkes sighed. It had been too naïve to hope that his reputation wouldn’t precede him. He dragged a chair for himself, gestured for the barmaid to bring them a round, and sat with them. He waited until everyone had their ale so he could pull down his mask and take a sip of whiskey, only to pull it back up right away. His face wasn’t a secret, he just didn’t feel like baring it while he had this conversation.

And just in time, too, because the moment the dwarf put down his tankard he shot question after question. “What brings you here? I thought you had a group. Where’s your group? Do you guys separate when chasing some bounties and reunite later? Cuz I’ve been trying to do that but Murtaugh here keeps telling me I’ll die if I go off on my own because I don’t know how to use any weapons but I have my magic and I can--”

He was cut off by the leader --Murtaugh, apparently-- socking him atop the head.

“That was rude,” said the meathead with a surprisingly quiet voice.

The leader disregarded that and berated the dwarf. “Clearly he has something to say, Fenz. Let the man speak.”

Fawkes raised his glass slightly as a sign of appreciation. “You dealt with Graveborn, didn’t you?”

Murtaugh made an ugly grimace of a smile and nodded. “Nasty ones. Their King claims them to be our allies against the Hypogeans, but Thoran’s not the only one in command.”

Fawkes leans forward with interest. “Ever heard of any deserters?”

Murtaugh raised an eyebrow. “What kind did you have in mind?”


	3. Chapter 3

Raine was about to give up on finding Fawkes in this town and heading the other way when Mirael told her she got a tip. Raine went back with her to a tavern, not even bothering to hide her uneasiness, and sat on a table with Mirael and the person she found.

It was a dwarf who looked like he belonged in a library, not a tavern, but with a spark of adventure in his eyes that made her think he was just a boy braving the world for the first time. “Mirael said you’ve seen him?” Raine asked.

The guy nodded, and then as if realizing something, his eyes widened. “You’re Death’s Denier! See I knew he looked too alone, I thought you’d be with him, he didn’t say anything about it but…” He seemed to read her sour mood and trailed off.

Raine didn’t have time for this. “Where did he go? Is he still around?”

Surprisingly, the overeager young man looked hesitant and took a few seconds to respond. “I’m… not supposed to tell you this, probably. He said he was incognito, and Murt- my friends told me to respect that because we’re all in the same boat. But… I felt something strange about him. I don’t know if it was intuition or magic, because I’m still a little new, but something felt… weird. Off.”

Raine paid close attention, and nodded for him to continue.

“He asked about some Graveborn deserter. I forget the name, but Murtaugh said they called him ‘the Abomination’.” He paused. “Your friend went after him.”

Finally, a lead. “When did he leave?”

“As soon as we finished talking. He went west, into the woodlands. That’s where we told him we’d heard about the deserter.”

“And when did this happen?”

“...Last night.”

Raine resisted the urge to punch the table and settled for clenching her fists. They just missed him. “Anything else we should know?”

The guy shook his head, and he actually looked concerned. Maybe it was lucky this was the one they found, instead of the ones who’d respect Fawkes’s wish for being ‘incognito’. Raine leaned back and sighed. Why would he hide this from her?

* * *

Once Fawkes had picked up the same clues that the other party had seen, it didn’t take long for him to track down the deserter. He’d been a hunter for longer than anyone else in this line of business, definitely more than Murtaugh and his guild. And sure, maybe he wasn’t that good with wilderness, but when Graveborn and dark magic were involved, no one could best him.

He followed the trail to a cave at the far edge of the woodland, across the river and at the base of the mountains. It didn’t look like a lair of any sort, just a conveniently tall gap between boulders created by a landslide ages ago. So either the deserter was just passing by, or already gone.

But the moment he stepped into the cave a shiver ran down his spine from a familiar sensation; there was an aura of necromancy here.

Fawkes stayed still for a moment, both listening for movement and for a demonic voice inside his head. But neither happened. And even though he was at the mouth of the cave, the shadows seemed to completely absorb any light in front of him.

He started by placing his coffin and crossbow aside and raising his hands as a sign of good faith. He still had a dagger in his boot, but yes, he was desperate. "Is there a Baden here?" he called into the shadows, trying to keep his voice level.

The darkness opened its glowing green eyes. "You track me for days," said a deep gravelly voice that echoed in the rough walls of the cave. “Yet you mean no harm.” He didn't sound hateful or angry, like most of the Graveborn that Fawkes had dealt with. He just sounded tired. "Your heart still has a will to live, yet you reek of death. What is it that you want from me, hunter?"

It was a stretch for sure, but Fawkes knew it was the best approach. Not all Graveborn were bound to a necromancer, but those who were could rarely break free of their will. That was why he looked for a deserter, someone who separated themselves from their kind, likely to break free of their necromancer’s grasp. Maybe this one could give him answers.

"I was nearly killed by a necromancer, once." Fawkes began, lowering his hands slowly. Seeing as the shadows didn’t waver, he slowly rolled up the sleeve of his left arm and peeled off the leather glove. The teal expanse had grown past his elbow now. "I learned to control his influence, or so I thought. Now it wants to take over again."

The green eyes fixed on his hand, narrowing in what Fawkes hoped was recognition, so he pressed on. "How did you break free of the influence for good?"

The eyes flickered back to him, and for a moment, they looked tearful. Then the shadows seemed to flicker, and out of them stepped a man; a Graveborn of gray skin and long platinum hair, with a face half-covered by an iron muzzle, a serrated blade instead of a right arm, and chest split open down the middle. It was definitely sorrow, what lived in his undead eyes. "I didn't."

Fawkes tensed up out of instinct, because everything about his appearance was menacing. But he felt a cackle ring in the back of his mind, the parasite mocking him, and focused on his task. "But you are free now, aren't you?"

"I am not always under his control." His gravelly voice rumbled through the cave, almost like an oncoming landslide. "I have the luck that I can control this body on such occasions. But when he wills it, when this eye opens," he placed a hand over the gash down his chest. "This body becomes his. And I, a mere spectator."

Fawkes then understood the grief in his eyes; the grief of a witness to his own body being used to commit atrocities. And as if waiting for that cue, the parasite jovially flashed images of his own possessed hands squeezing the life out of Raine.

He felt himself stagger from horror. "But… I was told you'd deserted! Is there no way to break free?!"

"You kill the necromancer and banish their soul," said Baden with an air of defeat. "No better than a puppet trying to reach its master. For you and I, it's simply impossible."

Fawkes felt his mouth run dry, a dull dread clutching his heart like his possessed hand itself. He left in a blur, nearly dragging along his belongings and diving into the woodlands without direction. His jumbled thoughts were made worse by the cackling whispers of the parasite, he couldn’t decide where to go.

But how could he, when the solution was right in his bag?

Fawkes came to a stop among the trees and dropped his bulkier belongings on the ground to reach his rucksack. He rummaged through it until he found what he was looking for: his bottle of Dura’s Tears.

The parasite went quiet. Fawkes could’ve laughed victoriously, finally able to one-up that wretched thing. He was way past precautions at this point; he uncapped the bottle and took a large gulp.

The parasite screeched inside his head, and Fawkes actually did let out a huffed laugh. He looked down at his left arm and saw the teal veins at the edges retract. But then when the blue expanse slowly crawled back, he felt as if his arm was being flayed. He groaned and gritted his teeth, clutched his upper arm as if to tourniquet it; he’d been through worse, he could power through this. As he watched, the parasite peeled back four, five centimeters, revealing pulsing raw flesh underneath which looked like it _should_ be bleeding profusely.

But it slowed down, and the screeching dimmed. Instead, a growl.

_You're a fine vessel. We grew slowly because we didn't want to hurt you too much._

Then, a roar.

_**BUT NOW YOU DON'T MIND, D̴̨͕͒̕̕͘Ǒ̴̲̗̹͍̏͝ ̵̪̒̅Ý̶̻͛O̵̫̅̎͜͝ͅU̸͉̎͆͊͆?̵̰̦̥̺̀** _

Teal veins like needles shot up his arm, piercing higher than ever, and the blue glow used them to climb back upon the exposed flesh and further up. Worse than being flayed alive, it felt like the parasite slowly scraped the skin off his arm with gravelly teeth. Fawkes clenched his jaw until it ached, but when the veins reached higher, up his shoulder and into his chest, it was too much to bear.

The parasite cackled too loudly in his head, so he didn't hear his own screaming at first. He stumbled back, tripped over his own belongings and barely registered falling to the ground. Writhing in pain, he willed his right hand to reach for the dagger in his boot. But the pain was too much, even for him, and his body felt weak.

He heard the demonic cackling in his head even as he blacked out.


	4. Chapter 4

West of the town there were only smaller villages, so again Raine felt like they were grasping at straws every time they asked around. But luckily, in those kinds of places, Fawkes was easier to spot.

It didn’t take long before they picked up his trail going into the woodlands. Mirael lit the way and kept the beasts away so Raine could focus exclusively on the trail; they couldn't afford to lose track. They were already at least a day behind, and honestly Raine was concerned Fawkes would go in over his head with some powerful enemy if they didn't reach him on time.

The trail reached the river, then, but it didn't take long for Raine to realize that it continued on this side, in a slightly different direction to where they came from. There must be something in or across the river that he wanted, then. This was a narrow part, she was pretty sure she could wade through it without a problem. But if Fawkes already went across the river and back, he got what he wanted already. So Raine cut to the rest of the trail without bothering to cross.

Mirael walked by her side, and though she didn’t say anything, Raine sensed the tension was nearly palpable. She knew the fire witch didn’t mind camping by the road every once in a while, but she was vocal about her love for soft beds and even luxurious accommodations; this level of wilderness survival was probably the most she’d ever done.

Raine exhaled and tried to alleviate the tension by at least sharing her findings as they walked. “Since we didn’t follow the path across the river and back,” she started, unused to her voice sounding this gruff and worn out. “We’ll at least have gained some time on him.”

“Alright,” Mirael said, sounding annoyed. But Raine appreciated that she wasn’t throwing a tantrum about it or setting everything on fire, as usual. “I don’t understand how you can trail him, I can’t see shit.”

That actually made Raine huff out a little laugh. Maybe she could distract herself by talking about her expertise. “It’s just like tracking a deer to hunt. But sometimes there’s magic involved, and I can read those trails too.” Seeing Mirael’s bemused expression, Raine figured she should elaborate. “Footsteps, that’s the ideal. But most of the time there aren’t many or they aren’t clear, so you look for little disturbances in the environment.” Just then, she passed a stomped fern. “Like that. Light-footed deer don’t do that: heavy boots do. If they’re being careful enough, you have to be more attentive, find lint stuck in leaves, maybe even hair.”

A sharp scrape in the forest floor caught her attention. It was in the direction of the trail, and it looked like a heavy object had dragged for a meter or so before being lifted again. The coffin? “He got a little careless at this point,” she said, thoughtful. “More rushed than before.” Did anything happen across the river? Nothing seems to have chased him, though.

Raine quickened her pace, hearing Mirael struggling to keep up. Something was off. Fawkes treasured that coffin, it was one of his most valuable assets. He wouldn’t be so careless with it. Was he injured? There was no sign of blood or even magic.

Then the shrubbery gave way to a flattened area, vaguely rectangular. Raine stopped at its edge and leaned down; the edges matched with Fawkes’s coffin. “He stopped here,” she announced as Mirael caught up, eyes not leaving the grim silhouette. The edges showed no sign of drag, but if he had just picked it up again left then there would be a trail-- and there wasn’t. It was as if Fawkes put down the coffin, sat on it, and vanished.

“I- I can’t see anything more,” she admitted to Mirael.

But the witch wasn't following her eyes; she was looking up at the canopy with her eyes wide. “I can.”

* * *

Sinister laughter sifted between the clouds of his dreams, but it was drowned out by the gentle sound of fluttering wings. A sound so soft and subtle, it was hard to believe it had the power to silence the parasite without becoming a nuisance in itself. It soothed his nerves and allowed him to melt into his rest, no longer fitful.

Fawkes opened his eyes to soft bedding and morning sun filtering through the canopy. A strange feeling of safety washed over him, despite remembering clearly where he was. He turned his head to a side and heard the distinctive crinkle of leaves under him. Who put them there?

He pushed himself onto his right side, leaning on his elbow, and felt his body sway. He remembered he could still hear the flowing river when he passed out, but right now there was nothing but morning songbirds and breeze through the canopy. Where was he?

His surroundings came into focus and he realized why he was swaying; it wasn't his head, but the hammock he was laying on. It seemed like it was made of branches and vines that grew for this sole purpose, and matted with dry leaves for comfort. His coffin and crossbow were propped up against the tree by his feet, and his bag was near his head. His boots, coat, hat, and mask were neatly arranged beside it.

But he realized last what he should've realized first: he didn’t ache. In fact, he felt remarkably well-rested. And his arm wasn't pulsing, the parasite was quiet. But one glance at it revealed what he could never be prepared for.

The possessed flesh had spread, and the border against his skin was no longer visible with his shirt on, no matter how far back he rolled up the sleeve. He attributed it to whatever calming spell he was under that he didn't panic, but he still quickly undid his shirt and slipped out his arm. The mass of blue reached at least past his shoulder, and had captured the side of his chest already. The glowing veins reached farther, way farther, the longest ones reaching across and down his torso.

"It didn’t spread while you slept."

Fawkes looked up at the voice, small and feminine, and saw a pair of curious blue eyes and the tips of butterfly wings peeking down from a high branch. He’d never seen this type of Wilder.

"I heard a scream, and then I felt a nightmare nearby, and I thought it was strange for them to happen so close to me!" she quipped, betraying enthusiasm behind all that caution. "But it was different, the source is a leech within you. I could put it in a deep sleep to stop it, but it's already too intertwined with you, so you wouldn't wake up if I kept it up. Right now it's in a lighter sleep."

Fawkes remained quiet, still looking up at her in amazement.

She frowned, apparently concerned. "In this state, it's only a passive growth. But you could wake it up if you get too riled up." Then she made a face like something else occurred to her, and smiled brightly. "You can drink from that pond, it's fresh! And there's some fruit on the ledge too, if you're hungry!"

She pointed behind him, and sure enough there was a pool of crystalline water held by thick tree roots, with some berries and peaches beside it. Was her magic also able to grow these roots?

Fawkes looked up at her, nodded in appreciation, and slowly slid out of the hammock. He felt light. Not dizzy or sick, just… light. Then again, he did have to take it easy so as to not wake the parasite again. He knelt by the pond and reached in to take a handful of water, but caught sight of his reflection beforehand. Some of the veins crawled up his neck, and one even reached all the way past his lips. _Damn it._ Well, it was nothing his mask couldn't hide.

He drank modestly and bit into a pear as he sat back. The butterfly Wilder fluttered closer to him to peek from behind a tree trunk, and the gentle sound of her wings soothed him. He knew his mind should be in shambles right now, but at least he could pick up the pieces in this calm spell she created. He ought to thank her for that, he realized as he swallowed that first bite. “...Thank you,” he muttered, his voice coming out so low and raspy that he was afraid she wouldn’t hear him.

But she did, and beamed. “Don’t worry about it! I do what I can!”

Fawkes turned back down to the water, and as he cupped his hands once again, he couldn’t help but stare at his demon hand. How fortunate he was that it wasn't flooding him with the vile images that plagued his nightmares, but as he drank from the water it held, he felt tainted. Like everything his hand touched became corrupted.

He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing in, and then out. What could he do now? He could find and kill the necromancer, but it would be like the deserter had said; like a puppet trying to take a swing at its master. He needed a team, a powerful one, and-

"Oh! Do you know a Mirael and Raine?"

His eyes widened at the Wilder.

"They're on their way! My friend found them and is bringing them over."

No, no, and _no_. Absolutely no way. His team needed to be powerful but otherwise expendable, people whose deaths wouldn't haunt him for too long, not— not his only friends!

Thanks to the calming aura he didn’t get too startled, but he did stand up quickly and he started to dress himself properly, mask and gloves first.

The Wilder fluttered over, apparently not fully aware of Lightbearer privacy customs, and peered at him with concern. "You don't look too happy. They _are_ your friends, right?"

He shoved on his coat and hat and picked up his things. "It's complicated," he muttered, and planned to leave it at that as he turned to find a way out of the clearing.

But the Wilder appeared in front of him, now with arms extended as if to stop him. "But you're friends! Maybe they can help!"

"Too risky," he growled, trying to find another path. But she kept getting in the way.

"They love you! My friend says their roots are troubled, but I know their intentions are pure! Especially the huntress!"

Fawkes paused his movement to look her right in the eye. But unlike most people he glared at, he couldn’t see through her, and she didn't cower. If anything, her angelic face took a determined furrow of her brows.

"You have lived through so much together, haven't you? Your bond is like no other, and you're willing to risk everything for her the same way she is for you. Let her help!"

"It's too dangerous."

"She's capable of helping!

"No!" Fawkes felt himself on the border of hysterics with that statement. Remembering the parasite sleeping inside of him, he took a few shaking deep breaths. The Wilder watched him with something he didn't want to look at too much, because he was sure he would identify as pity. "...I couldn't possibly live with myself if I hurt her."

The Wilder's expression gradually saddened, and though she made no move to get out of his way, he couldn’t find it in himself to move either. He’d never admitted his fears to anyone other than Raine, and he felt gutted open. Even under a mask, he felt exposed.

And in those few moments of quiet, he heard a gentle creak of swaying branches at the other end of the clearing. He could already imagine it, but he turned anyways to see some of the trees at the border bending and arching into an open path, and behind it was Raine. With a gentle expression of shock he wasn't sure he'd ever seen on her, she breathed, "There you are."


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> wooo sorry for that delay, i might not be as consistent as i hoped but i will finish what i goddamn started!!!!

There he was. He looked exactly the same as last time they'd seen each other, Raine was almost angry. But the treant that brought them here had spoken of an aura of calm surrounding the butterfly Wilder, so she supposed that was the reason she was just glad.

Her first instinct was to step towards him, but the moment she did, he took a step back. This she noticed with dismay and stopped. “Fawkes? What’s wrong?”

The look in his eyes she’d never forget. Fawkes was known to face demons and undead without batting a lash or making a sound, but as he looked at her, his eyes were wide in fear. She suddenly remembered her dream from the night he left. It was a memory of the last time she’d seen him truly, purely afraid; the day the necromancer got to him.

She heard the clumsy sound of Mirael catching up to her. “Raine? Finally, thank Dura. Why’d you stop? Is he there?”

Raine didn’t move as Mirael walked past her, towards Fawkes. “There you are, you little bitch!” she called, with a hint of amusement in her voice.

And with every step she took towards him, he staggered back. “Stay back!” he called. She hadn’t ever heard him sound so desperate.

She caught Mirael’s shoulder to stop her, but Raine herself was barely holding herself back and took a tentative step forward. “Fawkes, tell us what’s wrong. Why did you leave?”

He started looking around frantically, as if looking for an exit. The butterfly Wilder next to him hovered closer. “Remember to stay calm,” she told him, in a soothing voice that made something stir inside of Raine that she wasn’t sure she liked. But whatever it was, Fawkes didn’t calm down, and instead seemed more frantic but— his eyes turned more towards himself, instead of his surroundings.

Raine went towards him again and he actually jolted, but she didn’t stop. He couldn’t honestly expect to keep her this worried and then push her away! But then the Wilder looked at her with wide apologetic eyes, placed a hand on his shoulder, and suddenly the intensity in Fawkes’s eyes lost its strength and his knees buckled under him.

Raine’s instincts flared. She bolted towards him and was lucky that he was on his knees for a second, since she caught him before he finished falling. His eyes were half-lidded and his body was slack.

“He’s alright, I just put him to sleep,” she heard the Wilder say from somewhere behind her.

He looked peaceful, at least, but he was clearly trying to fight it, if his eyes were anything to go by. She took off his hat and pulled down his mask so he could feel more comf-- _oh_.

She knew that shade of teal. She knew it wasn’t the Wilder’s spell or any benevolent magic. The only question was, why was a streak reaching up into his face...?

A drowsy hand reached up to hold her wrist. Fawkes was barely keeping his eyes open, but they were fixed on hers. “I could… hurt… you…”

Raine didn’t know how to respond to that. She went still, trying to put together the clues she had. When she looked back, she realized Fawkes had been acting strange for a couple of days before he left. Now the parasite had apparently spread; she tugged on his collar and saw a hint of teal under the clothes, confirming that. And with that last statement…

She could only keep her cool for Fawkes’s sake. She huffed and smiled gently at him. “You really think you could hurt me, you little twig?” she chuckled, letting a little of her usual arrogance slip into the act. “No demon can hurt me, possessing you or not. Now breathe, calm down, and we can talk when you’re more awake, yeah?”

She hoped she was convincing enough, because for the first few seconds, she couldn’t see any change in his expression aside from resisting the sleeping spell. But then, he started to give into it, and she relaxed her shoulders. “Take a nap, Fawkes,” she assured him. “I’ll be right here.”

He seemed to calm down with that, but he didn’t really go to sleep. She stayed with him as promised, trying to keep him as comfortable as possible on the forest floor. Mirael sat on the nearby hammock to rest, and the Wilder introduced herself and told them what she knew. Raine was really trying to keep it together for Fawkes’s sake, but deep down she knew: they really were in deep shit now.

* * *

In the state between dreams and the waking world, it’s hard to tell time. Fawkes didn’t know if he’d been laying in Raine’s lap for seconds or for hours, but when he felt the parasitic whispers go back to sleep, he felt the spell loosen its grip on his consciousness.

He saw Raine stroking his hair idly, staring at nothing with a pensive expression that he only witnessed when she’d been tracking something for too long. He took a deep breath as the only warning that he was fully awake now, and pushed himself to sit up. His mask was still off, and he unconsciously pulled it back over his nose. Then he looked back, and Raine was mildly surprised but still hadn’t moved.

Fawkes felt like he should speak first, and yet his throat ran dry. He knew Raine would punch him if he just tried to pretend nothing happened, or if he implied leaving again, or if he brought up his helplessness against the necromancer. He realized there wasn’t much he could say, except when he looked into her eyes and, among the concern, the core of it was hurt.

“I’m sorry,” he started, no more than a grunt. But he supposed she deserved better. “I’m… sorry I left.” He thought it would make things easier. He thought maybe he wouldn’t have to see the heartbreak in her eyes, or maybe she’d even hate him and stop looking for him. Now he realized those were just excuses. “I was scared. Selfish. I’m sorry.”

Raine was quiet for a good moment. It made him nervous, because she was never this quiet. Maybe she really was disappointed, and she just wasn’t voicing it because of the Wilder’s aura.

But then she gave him a tight-lipped smile. “Did you find out anything that might help?”

He kept himself carefully neutral. He didn’t want to sour the mood even more. “Not much new. Kill and exorcise the necromancer.”

“Hey, you’re good at that.”

“Not when I’m the one possessed.”

“Good thing you’re not alone.”

There it was; he was afraid she’d say that. “No,” he said firmly. “He’s only gotten stronger with the years. This,” he gestured towards his left side, “proves it.”

“So have we.” Her eyes started to take on that stubborn glint, but he couldn’t let up.

“Raine, if he has this much control over a distance, he’ll be ten times worse in person,” he insisted. “I don’t want to lose you!”

She levelled him with a look so disbelieving, he felt like he was missing something important. She reached forward and grabbed his shoulder — the left one— and he flinched. She didn’t budge. “And I don’t want to lose you either,” she said very slowly, as if explaining something obvious to a child. “It’ll be risky no matter what. I’m just making sure there’s a fair fight. Besides,” she shrugged, “I’m a sniper anyways. He won’t even know what hit ‘im.”

Fawkes clenched his jaw. What she said made sense, logically, so he was a little at loss. He’d been putting his life before hers, and he knew she wouldn’t like that, but he was so against the mere thought of her doing the same for him that he hadn’t even considered it an option. It was still terrifying to think of, but with her fierce determination, did he really have a choice?

“So where to?” said Mirael from the hammock, idly toying with a flame between her fingers. Both he and Raine turned their heads towards her, having nearly forgotten about her despite her powerful presence.

“Tracking’s what I’m good at,” Raine said with a grin. Had the mood really lightened that easily? “Does your friend here have any tips?”

Fawkes didn’t know what she meant until the butterfly Wilder fluttered down from the treetops and knelt beside them. “Keep this on you,” she chirped and extended her open palm towards him, holding a little acorn. “It has a little bit of me and a little bit of Ulmus, just enough to keep the spell with you. Remember to stay calm! It’ll work as long as you have this.”

Fawkes gingerly took the acorn and inspected it. It didn’t look any different from any other acorn, but there was the faint shimmer of magic when he knew to look for it. He nodded and looked up at her again. “Thank you. Again. I never caught your name.”

She smiled brightly, like she’d been told great news. “Tasi! And my treant friend is Ulmus. He’s a little shy, but he’s the one that brought your friends.”

As if on cue, he heard the overhead branches creak and sway without any wind. He looked up towards the treetops, unable to see the treant but knowing he was somewhere around there. “Thank you too,” he murmured, a little bashful but still not wanting to be rude.

Tasi then leaned in towards them as if sharing a secret, though the others could probably still hear. “If you’re familiar with meditation, you might be able to pry some secrets from your little guest while it sleeps. But always stay calm!”

Fawkes took a sharp intake of breath. Maybe he’d be able to use its connection to the necromancer for his own benefit. He looked at Raine and she grinned, apparently on the same wavelength. Then he nodded at Tasi and stashed the acorn away in one of his pockets.

Raine pushed herself up with a happy sigh and held out her hand to him. He still had his doubts about the path they’d be taking, but… she gave him confidence. Probably too much for his own good, if he was honest with himself. He took her hand, and she pulled him up. He went to grab the rest of his belongings, and when he turned, Mirael and Raine were already waiting for him by the arched path.

With a final grateful nod to Tasi, he went with them. Mirael clapped his back as he passed, and Raine playfully punched his shoulder. Soon enough, they left behind Tasi’s aura of calm, but the parasite was still submerged in an uneasy sleep. Raine was already telling him what he missed and joking around with Mirael. Everything felt almost normal again. He hoped it didn’t end in tragedy.


End file.
